Flu
by FreyaCat
Summary: So, what does it take to make a Saiyan sick? More than ya think. Rated for language.


**Disclaimer: I'll always say it: I wish I owned DBZ...but Vegeta is beyond my reach... *sigh***

_Flu_

As Vegeta ran to the bathroom for the second time that morning, he once again cursed the Saiyan genes that forced him to eat so much just to function. Normally, he loved that particular part of his heritage. Problem was, on the rare occasion that he did need to throw up, it took a long time, and didn't taste nearly as good coming back up as it did going down.

He flung the door to his and Bulma's private bathroom and hit his knees on the floor in front of the toilet just as his breakfast made a reappearance. He tightened his fingers around the bowl, nearly cracking it as the last of his spasms died down.

He sat back against the cold wall and flushed, reaching his other hand up to wipe his mouth. The chill of the tile felt good against his fevered skin, and he lay flat back against it for a moment, trying to bring his body temperature down. Ever since he'd gone to bed the night before, he'd felt off. It'd really hit him like a ton of bricks that morning though. He knew that he probably needed to go in search of medicine, but he'd be damned if he'd ever let those weak Earthlings see him like that. Family or not...

"Vegeta?"

Too late.

He nearly groaned as a small knock sounded on the door. He was sure she'd already headed off for work!

"What, woman? I'm busy!"

"Ya, I kinda get that, hun. Mom called and said you really looked bad at breakfast, so I came home. Are you alright? Can I get you anything?" Her brows arched up in concern. It really wasn't like her husband to get sick at all, much less with any kind of stomach virus. Dear God, what if Trunks got it too? The last thing she needed on top of her already astronomical workload was two sick Saiyans.

"You can get away from the door and leave me in peace." His answer was muffled, though succinct enough to get his point across. She crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame, unwilling to leave him to his own devices until he was safely back in their bed.

"You can shove it up your ass, Mr. Mighty Saiyan Prince. You're sick, and I'm not gonna leave you alone until I know you're not gonna run out to the GR and kill yourself. You can grumble about it all you want! Now let me in there so I can peel your sorry ass off the floor." She gasped and jumped backward as the door snapped open and her angry husband eyed her up and down.

"Saiyans don't get sick woman, least of all from a weak human virus. Now, you need to back the hell off so I can go train." He made to walk out of the bathroom, but was stopped by a tiny hand smack in the middle of his chest.

"No, Vegeta, what _you_ need is a toothbrush and a luke-warm shower. Then, you need to crawl back into bed and sleep this off. I'm sure with your _superior_ Saiyan DNA, you'll have fought this back by dinner." She rolled her eyes when he turned slightly green at the mention of food.

Then, she spun him very gently towards their shower and stepped onto the cool tile with him. He walked to their vanity and piled a veritable mountain of toothpaste on his toothbrush. She pushed back the glass doors to the shower, and turned it on, testing the water until the temperature was to her satisfaction. She smiled when she heard him behind her scrubbing his teeth. Poor guy must've really been feeling awful to let her boss him around without a fight.

She heard a loud thunk and spun quickly around.

Poor guy fainted!

She cried out his name and launched herself at his prone form. She hit her knees, and felt a sharp sting as they scraped across the floor. Once she reached him, she shoved both of her hands under him and strained with everything she had to roll him into her lap. Damn, but he was heavy. She loved his muscles, she really did, but this was just ridiculous!

Once she had him situated somewhat comfortably, she took stock of what she was dealing with. Flushed, feverish hue to his skin, perfuse sweating, heavy breathing, shivering. Maybe this wasn't a stomach virus after all? As a mechanical engineer, her expertise didn't really lie in medicine, but she'd been around enough fighters of all species to recognize one in serious trouble. She shook him a little and called his name.

"Mmg, leave me alone, woman! Must you interrupt my sleep? We can fuck later..."

She rolled her eyes.

"Okay, mister "Too Sexy To Stay Awake", somehow I doubt your performance would be stellar right now. I'm gonna go get a thermometer real quick. You just...lie here." She grimaced as his back hit the cold floor and he hissed at the shock of it. He began to shake in earnest, his teeth chattering audibly. Well, add chills to the list...

She shot to her feet and quickly padded to the white first aid kit strapped to the wall. Time and experience had taught her that any room should suffice as a makeshift treatment area when dealing with Saiyans. She tore the box down, nearly ripping it's brackets from the drywall and flipped it open, rooting through its contents until she found what she sought. She let out a triumphant "ha!" and quickly walked back to her still semi-unconscious husband. Kneeling down beside him, she tried to pop the instrument into his mouth...and was met with a solid wall of teeth. Apparently, the nauseous Saiyan wanted nothing in his mouth at that moment. She tried again. _Click_. And again. _Click_.

"Damnit, Vegeta, open your mouth!" She shoved it harder against him. _Click.__Click.__Click._ "Good Lord, man, am I gonna have to break your damned teeth?" She tried again before coming to a snap decision. She leaned in and brushing her lips against his ear, she whispered, "Vegeeeeeetaaaaa, I have some nice Strawberry Mochi here with your name on it if you'll just open that stinky maw of yours."

"St-stupid wench, I don't want any blasted- mmph!" He popped open a bleary eye and peered down to his mouth where a very smug Bulma had jammed the thermometer under his tongue. He narrowed his eyes into a semblance of a glare, wishing vehemently that she would just disappear and leave him to his shame. However, he'd been married and mated to this particular female to recognize that mulish expression settling over her face. He resigned himself to enduring her petting, knowing full well that any complaining would get him exactly nowhere. Besides, though he'd never admit it, his throat was rather sore and his chest was stinging with each breath. Add to it that his nose was running and his nausea was returning in full force, and he didn't feel much like a conversation.

"Okay then," she said as she slid the thermometer from his mouth, "let's have a look." She glanced down at the numbers on the little digital face, still rising. "See now? Your fever isn't that bad." The little instrument beeped its final reading and she glanced down at it. "You're only at... 115 degrees? What the shit, Vegeta? How are you even _alive_?" Her eyes found his, all but bugging out of her head. His mouth thinned into a dry line.

"So sorry to disappoint you, woman, but my Saiyan DNA won't surrender me to a little fever."

"A little fever? You call _this_," she brandished her tool in his face, "a _little_ fucking fever? You crazy bastard!" She shot up and began dragging him into the cool spray wincing as he gasped at the temperature change and started shivering violently. She crawled in after him and settled his burning form in her lap once again. She shushed him and cooed sweet nothings in his ear as the water rolled over both of them. _Well,__there went that pantsuit__._ If he heard her, he gave no indication, and she frantically wondered what it was that could have possibly made him so sick.

He'd been on Earth for well over ten years at that point. He should have acclimated to the various viruses that afflicted Earth's people. Not to mention the obvious fact that he was not only a Saiyan warrior prince, but a Super Saiyan to boot! It just didn't add up... his symptoms were equating to a full system melt-down. She'd never heard of a virus like that...unless...

"Oh God, Vegeta, did you visit my lab at all this week? Not the offices, but the actual lab itself?"

"Hm?" He roused himself long enough to try and puzzle out her question. "Ugh..yea. The GR broke down yesterday and I went to find you down there. Some idiot _boy_ spilled a vial of blue crap all over my chest." Through his hazy vision, he thought he saw her pale.

"Blue...crap? Did it smell like oranges?"

"It smelled like orange coated shit- oomph!" He was cut off as she dropped him and ran out to hit an intercom switch on their bedroom wall. After a few seconds of static and fuzz, her father's voice came out of the speaker.

"Oh hello there, Bulma, what can I do for you, darling?" Her dad's gruff voice calmed her a bit.

"Dad, listen to me. I want you to very quickly go down to my lab and get the purple vial marked XV-275. You know the one. I'm sending Trunks to get it. Please hurry, Daddy, we have a situation." Her only response was the sporadic rusting of his lab coat and the stomp of his shoes as he ran out of the room. Satisfied that he'd do his part, she hit another switch and called out to her son.

"Trunks! Drop that joystick and come to our room now! Be quick about it, honey, this is an emergency!" Her toes tapped out five seconds before door slammed open, and a slightly frazzled boy stood there panting.

"I'm here, Mom! Where's Dad? Who do we need to fight?" His cerulean eyes scanned the room for any danger to his mother. She stooped down to his eye level to make sure she had his attention. Vegeta chose that moment to puke again.

"Jeez, Mom, what's wrong with Dad?"

"Trunks, listen to me, love. Daddy is very sick and Grandad has the medicine we need to cure him. I need you to use your super speed to fly down to his office and grab it for me. Be EXTREMELY careful with it, son. It's the only vial I have right now." They both grimaced as Vegeta heaved again. Then she looked down at their son and he nodded.

"Right, Mom, don't worry about it," he shouted as a golden aura exploded around his body, "I'm all over this!" With that, he took off like a shot, and Bulma gave a tiny smile before she spun around and ran back to Vegeta.

She found him still hunched over the toilet, retching violently and choking for his efforts. As much as it grossed her out, she steeled herself, kneeling by his side and rubbing his back until the spasms died down. He reached up to flush again and sat back heavily against her. His head dropped back against her shoulder. Her hand automatically wound its way into the course black flame of hair on his head, and she kissed his temple.

In his fevered state, he turned his face and nuzzled the hollow of her throat, seeking the comfort that he would never outright ask for. The soft curves of her body absorbed some of his more violent shivers and her spine braced against the wall kept both of them from meeting the floor again. A trickle of moisture rolled down his face, and he couldn't tell if it was from his sweat or her tears, which he could smell through the snot in his nose. He found it funny that she was trying not to bawl when he was the one who wanted to curl up and cry.

The irony nearly made him snort.

He settled for sneezing.

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.

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Meanwhile, Trunks landed outside of his grandfather's lab and was met by the frazzled old man outside the front entrance. He quickly reached inside the pocket of his long white coat and extracted the tiny purple vial that his daughter needed, followed by a needle and syringe. He handed them to Trunks with a warning not to let anyone know he had it, and let his grandson make a hasty retreat, wishing him God speed.

Good Lord, what had they created?

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.

.

"Just hang on for a little bit longer, sweetie. Trunks'll be back really soon, okay?" Bulma's low brandy wine voice washed through him like a balm, though his lip did curl a bit at the "sweetie" she tossed at him. She acted like he was dying or something. Damned woman and her pet names...

"Bulma, what's wrong with me? It's pitifully obvious that you know. Care to fill me in?" His gruff voice was deceptively sweet, and she cringed, knowing that he wasn't going to like what she had to say.

"Well, let's just say that Daddy and I have been doing a little moonlighting for a certain military organization that deals in biological weapons." She squeaked out her reply, and he tensed as expected.

"And why," he asked calmly, "would you even consider such a stupid, useless, fool headed, ridiculous, dangerous waste of time?" He stared at the wall angrily, all of the pieces falling into place. So, he'd been hit with a bio weapon. Fucking dandy. Just one of the many perks of being sucked into a family of mad scientists. Nothing like leaving random WMD's just laying around any ol' where.

On the other hand though, he felt a tiny smidgen of relief, as this meant that his immune system wasn't getting soft and weak. Hell, he wagered that even Cell would've been down for a few days with this little flu bug. Behind him, Bulma sighed and he felt her shoulders slump, presumably in guilt. Good. In his current state, he wasn't above letting her wallow in a little self-loathing for creating that crap, especially when the lab was so close to their family compound.

"Damn, Vegeta, I'm so sorry. I guess the curiosity got to us. We were able to concoct a sort of super flu, powerful enough that even an aerosolized third of a vial could kill off a thousand grown men in a matter of minutes. You had a whole vial spilled on you and it still took an entire day to see any effect. Fascinating..."

"Still sitting right here, wench. I can hear you fawning over the instrument of my torture. Not very _wifely_ of you." He crossed his arms and shot her a bleary glare from his spot beneath her chin. She flinched, both from knowing he was right and at the violent shivers wracking his muscles again.

"Sorry. Anyway, we've been working on this bad boy for six whole months! It works the best once it's been introduced into the air supply. We even came up with the idea that we could disguise it in household cleaners, hence why it's blue and smells like oranges."

"Again I say, like orange coated shit." He grumped as another sneeze erupted from his nose.

"Well, maybe to you because your sense of smell is super strong; but to an ordinary man, it would be virtually undetectable."

"Yes, but I'm not an "ordinary man", now am I? How is it that this crap affected me at all?"

"Well...although Saiyan DNA is different than human DNA, there's still a lot of similarities too. That's why we were able to make Trunks when we had sex. Our genetic make-up is still compatible enough that we could blend it and successfully make a baby. If yours was too different, the virus wouldn't have done anything at all."

He jerked forward and coughed.

"I'll thank you kindly not to lump me in with the rest of your pathetic species." He breathed out as he settled back against her. Then he snuffled, as his nose was making his M's sound like B's and such. He sounded like an idiot.

"Okay, no offense, babe, but this pathetic female and her pathetic group of scientists created a virus that's kinda kickin' your ass right now."

"Semantics," he said with a casual wave of his hand, his skin paling beneath the red on his cheeks. "What you call a genius leap of science, I call cheating. And now I'm going to vomit again. Please leave." He got to his shaking knees and hung his head back over the toilet just in time. Bulma gagged with him, but resolutely remained where she was.

"I'm giving you a whole lot of anti-vomiting suppositories to stop that after Trunks gets back with the antidote." Her voice was faintly sarcastic.

"Yes, well, I'm giving you a whole lot of "we're never having sex again" just because you did this to me." He sneered.

"Funny, I remember saying the exact same thing when I was pushing your son out of my vagina." She shot him a saccharin smile. He managed to look horrified.

"...Alright, no more talking for now." With that, he settled himself back in the warm cradle of her arms, just as Trunks flew through their bathroom window.

"Okay, guys," he huffed, "I'm here. Mom, is this what you wanted?" He held the liquid up to the light and watched entranced as it shimmered. Bulma smiled at him and reached up for it.

"Good job, baby," she said as his little hand carefully, almost reverently, deposited the medicine in his mother's. "Alright, now hold Daddy down. He's not gonna like this much."

Vegeta opened his eyes and shot a warning glare at Trunks, which the boy ignored in a perfect impression of his father. Instead, he walked right up to Vegeta and placed his hands on the man's shoulders. Vegeta growled; Trunks gulped, but held steady.

"Erm...Trunks, honey, could you maybe...turn Daddy over?" Bulma's voice was sheepish, and Vegeta immediately hated it. That tone always meant trouble.

"And just why the hell would he do that, woman?" He crossed his arms over his shaking chest and attempted to look threatening from his prone position. It didn't work. Bulma sniffed at him and shot him a glare.

"Because, I have to stick this giant needle in your ass cheek. Now, Trunks, do your stuff."

The boy nodded, and gently helped Vegeta turn onto his stomach, which the prince immediately regretted as it made him nauseous again. Trunks placed his hands back on his shoulders and leaned his meager body weight onto his father's taught muscles. Vegeta forced himself to relax, instead focusing on snuffling the snot from the front of his nostrils.

A small click behind him alerted Vegeta to Bulma uncapping the needle and pulling the medicine into the syringe. He shot a glance over his shoulder to watch her, and was met with the sight of a needle longer than his hand, and wide enough that he was sure it'd leave a permanent divot in his perfect ass. Aw, hell no!

"Trunks, get 'im!" Bulma screeched loud enough to shame a banshee as she too pounced on her husband's wiggling back. Clenching the syringe in her teeth, she shoved a thumb under his training shorts and pushed them down.

"Get the fuck off me, woman-"

"Oh shut up, Vegeta, I just need-"

"Mom, hurry! I can't hold him much-"

"Then you get off me too, you damned dirty brat, or I'll-"

"Can it, Dad! Just let her-"

"What? You just wait until I get you into the GR, you little- YOUCH!"

He shrieked at the sharp jab, quickly followed by an all-consuming burn slamming his ass cheeks. God, would the humiliation _ever_ end? Bulma chuckled maniacally and smacked his butt. Apparently not.

"There, ya big baby, it's over." She spit the needle cover across the floor and slid off of his back. "You should be fine now. Trunks, help me get him into to shower, then make yourself scarce for a little while, okay?" She rubbed a loving hand over his lavender head. He nodded, and then bent down to heft his father's torso over his little shoulders.

Once Vegeta was safely ensconced within the confines of the shower, Trunks turned and shot a wink at Bulma before taking off through the window again. Once outside, he rolled his eyes. His parents really were too weird...

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Vegeta was still shivering when Bulma stripped off her clothes and stepped under the spray with him. She knelt down before him, carefully peeled his shorts down his legs and gathered him to her chest. He shot her a dry look, but didn't move. She reached behind him and grabbed his shampoo, squirting a generous amount onto her hands before she lovingly began scrubbing the sweat and dirt from his scalp. He leaned further into her, and allowed her to continue, though his sour expression never changed.

Reaching above their heads, she plucked her scrubby off the shower nozzle and soaped it up, foregoing his normal bar soap for her own blueberry pie scented body wash. He didn't seem to mind, though his nose did twitch a bit.

She softly ran the bubbles over his skin, taking care not to push down on his stomach. Gradually, the violent shivers that had plagued him began to subside, but still she kept washing him. It seemed to be an unspoken apology from her, and an acceptance from him.

After what seemed like hours under the water, she helped him to his very unsteady feet, and slung one of his arms around her small shoulders. She took him one tiny step at a time to their bedside, where he collapsed as gracefully as he could. He lay his head down, letting his eyes slide shut as Bulma covered him with their comforter. She crawled in behind him and brought her knees under his, curling her arm around his waist, and absently stroked the muscles around his stomach. He let out a contented sigh and fell into an exhausted sleep, the comforting warmth of his mate's body lulling him off.

But one thing was still bothering Bulma.

None of Capsule Corps's lab techs were even allowed near the lab where the weapon was being created. It was only seasoned biologists allowed down there. So, who was the kid Vegeta saw? Plus, if this mystery person had spilled the flu, even in its liquid form, why the hell hadn't he told anyone? He should have sounded the alarm immediately after it touched Vegeta's skin.

She wasn't sure what was going on, but she was damned sure willing to bet that the military did...

.

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"So," Bulma said as she twirled a pen around her fingers, "that's the whole story, Sir. What would you make of that?" Her voice was deceptively sweet, honey dripped over steel.

The Lieutenant sitting before her was beginning to fidget in earnest.

_Gotcha._

"You see, Sir, I have this theory. Wanna hear it?" She rushed on before he could nod to the negative. "I think the military wanted to test that little bug we've been making. I think you guys got some little snot to infiltrate my lab and pose as one of us. I think you ordered him to make it look like an accident, so when we all died, people wouldn't think twice about it. Lucky for us, that kid you sent was an unobservant moron, and didn't realize that using the flu in its liquid form isn't all that effective. Plus, his test subject has a...higher tolerance than most men. Luckily for you, Sir, my husband didn't die."

The man gasped, clearly surprised that the young soldier had messed up so badly. He cleared his throat.

"And what, Mrs. Briefs," he said sarcastically, "exactly is it that you think you can prove?" He leaned forward and folded his hands under his chin, trying desperately to fight back the butterflies rioting in his gut. She leaned back against her chair, her body language conveying a casualness that she didn't feel. She shrugged.

"Oh, nothing much. But you'll understand my reasoning for pulling Capsule Corps off of this project. Can't have a careless military spraying this stuff about all willy-nilly, now can we?" She gave him a predatory smile. "However, it is my personal opinion that _someone needs_ to pay for this little fowl up. And, boy, do I have a solution for you." She stood and came around the desk, practically oozing sex. He wasn't fooled. Time and ample missions had taught him that women could be twice as deadly as men.

"Wh-What do you think you can do to me? What, are you gonna do, inject me with that flu? Tit for tat?" He attempted to make his face hard, but failed at the queer glint in her eyes.

"Oh-ho no, buddy, I've got something much more dangerous than some silly bio weapon in store for you." Her eyes never left his as she sang out, "Vegeta, can you come in here, sweetie?"

His eyes darted to the man stepping out of the shadows, a positively malevolent smirk lighting his features. God, how long had he been there?

"Now, Vegeta doesn't really like being sick to begin with, but when you add that you could have killed me in the process of releasing a test batch of that nasty little bug that made him that way...well...he's a little testy." She looked at him, and something indefinable passed between them. It made the Lieutenant sweat. "Honey, would you care to show the nice man why you don't ever fuck with the Briefs family?"

The newcomer cracked his knuckles. And stepped toward the other man.

"It would be my pleasure, _dear_."

**Lol, I'll leave it up to you guys whether you think he killed the guy, or Bulma stopped him. Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are craved, but flames are rejected! Love you guys!**

**Freya**


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